


A Cracked Bell, Ringing

by eve11



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: AU, Dark, Gen, Timestamp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-07
Updated: 2012-01-07
Packaged: 2017-10-29 03:57:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/315546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eve11/pseuds/eve11
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Justice. Survival. Freedom. Truth. The four pillars of honorable combat, the very first lesson.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Cracked Bell, Ringing

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Mine Eyes Have Seen](https://archiveofourown.org/works/315538) by [eve11](https://archiveofourown.org/users/eve11/pseuds/eve11). 



> Timestamp fic, one year after "Mine Eyes Have Seen." May not make much sense if you've not read that one. Written for katie_m

Nayrah looked over her shoulder before pushing through the heavy wooden door to the student center. The lights were dimmed inside, and the interior was still cold; the fuels conglomerate had not yet switched to winter rations despite the sudden snap in the weather. All the better, she thought. Syman had a portable electric heater for raising the temperature in the basement meeting room high enough for comfort, and this way there were fewer people about.

She thrust her hands into her pockets and hurried down the stairway. She was running late. But today's lesson was balance and centering in hand-to-hand combat, rather than meditation or philosophy, and so her rushed entrance caused little disturbance. The twelve attending students had already paired up across the windowless room, and were working through the newest movement drills with varying levels of success.

"It is good to see you, Nayrah Alam." Master Teal'c paused in guiding a pair of students--Hemman and someone new that Nayrah didn't recognize--to bow his head in her direction. She responded in kind, and quickly shed her coat and gloves. Teal'c guided Hemman's shoulders square to his partner and left the pair on their own, motioning Nayrah to the front of the room. She glanced around, but of course Syman was already sparring with someone else.

Partnerless, Nayrah joined her instructor, quickly picking up the basics of the lesson she had missed. She did her best but of course ended up on the mat in very few moves.

"Who is she?" Nayrah asked quietly, indicating the new girl at the other end of the room as Teal'c gave her a hand up.

"Her name is Manaar Ibrin. She is a--" he paused, studying Nayrah's face, and she suddenly felt very, very young. "Friend," he decided on either her behalf or his own, "of Hemman's."

Nayrah needn't have asked. The girl was clumsy, with no mindfulness of her limbs and stance. It was clear she had mindfulness only for Hemman and his bright smile. Hemman was such an idiot when it came to girls. He probably had known her for less than a ten-day, and had brought her here. Nayrah chewed a thumbnail nervously, until she became aware of her instructor's frown and quickly stemmed the habit.

"How he can be Tirani and not understand the merits of discretion, I will never know," she said.

They didn't have to keep the meetings secret. The Third Charter of Tirana guaranteed the rights of all citizens to organize and to express their views freely, under the contract of civic responsibility and reciprocity. But these days, with the coalition, the war, and the reconstruction, discussion of politics and religion was extremely impolite. It was better not to stir the pot. There was less strife and bad feelings, and as of late, less paperwork. Anyway, the administration had done away with the more controversial history classes that used to spur debate.

(Syman said it was the government's doing, pressured by Andar and by the new settlements in Artemisia. To which Nayrah had offered the fact that she and a few others had enrolled, but there wasn't enough interest to keep the classes on the roster.)

"Hemman follows his heart," Teal'c said, his eyes far away. "Those who do so learn truths quickly."

"A truth learned quickly is often at great cost," Nayrah countered.

Teal'c smiled, as much as he ever did smile. "So you do listen, Nayrah Alam. Does your body learn as well as your mind?" He took a defensive stance and invited her to attack, leaving her fears unchallenged.

**

Nayrah learned over the following days that Hemman's new girlfriend hated all things Andari. It seemed, because of his history teachings, she expected Teal'c to agree with her.

"Whom do you hate?" he merely asked. "Why?"

"They're backwards savages, all of them," Manaar answered. "They killed my brother in the war, even though they were on the same side."

Nayrah had Andari friends at University. Some had families who were moving to Artemisia, and they were constantly under threat of attack from insurgents. She would never tell them about these meetings. But if she was fascinated by the history, by the truth underlying Teal'c's lessons, well that was the heart of something needing to be touched, as her father would say, and it was best to do it with courtesy.

Perhaps, in the face of impropriety, Nayrah would admit she was stirred by darker feelings as well. Sometimes the selective silence of communication from the Eastern regions weighed her down so heavily she wanted to sink into the ground, rooted and cold like a statue. On these days she tried not to think about her Kelownan friends at all. She'd gotten one letter, ages ago when the war first ended, from Marnia Dell asking for her help in petitioning the coalition authority against changing any city names. Such a trivial thing. And now there was never any news.

"If you had the one in front of you who killed your brother, what would you do to him, Manaar Ibrin?" Teal'c asked.

"He would go to trial."

"But that is not hate. Feel the weapon in your hands. See the man in front of you."

She was silent, her eyes full of unshed tears.

"Would you sweep his legs from under him? Would you crush his throat with your foot as he lay on the ground? Would you drive your knife between his ribs and watch the life leave his eyes?" Teal'c stood calmly, meeting the eyes of each student in the room. And to a one, they knew he had done all of the things he was describing.

"Would it matter," he said, "if the Andari body beneath you was your brother's killer?"

By now Manaar was crying openly.

"You are angry, Manaar Ibrin, but you seek justice. Do not dishonor your brother's memory with hate."

Justice. Survival. Freedom. Truth. The four pillars of honorable combat, the very first lesson. It was deceptively simple to learn the words, but Nayrah looked at her instructor and wondered what it took to _know_ this lesson, as Teal'c knew it. The thought frightened her, and she set it aside.

**

Patriots and revolutionaries alike called Teal'c crazy, but Nayrah knew better. The radio broadcasters were wrong. Her parents were wrong; if they'd only agree to meet him they'd know. She used to hunt rock snakes with her father in the Lessian flats, and the creature in Teal'c's belly was no rock snake. One conversation would convince them he was sound of mind, and what reason did he have to lie? Nayrah wasn't sure he could.

The university said he was a divisive influence when they quietly requested they stop using the student center. They moved on, pooling some money to rent a small studio in the city, without submitting an official change of operations address in the registry.

Teal'c said the ancient goddess Artemis was a creature like that snake, a creature called a Goa'uld. He said that Goa'uld grew slowly, almost imperceptibly, until the day they recognized the pull of something bigger, and lashed out toward a host's mind.

Nayrah believed him.

**

 _Justice. Survival. Freedom. Truth._ It hammered to the beat of her heart as Nayrah focused on the latch on the studio door. Her hands were sweating in the cold. Her vision jumped and jittered like a skipping movie reel. Teal'c stood solidly at her side, a long staff held comfortably in his grip.

"They took Hemman." Manaar had come, breathless, to the studio where Teal'c and the rest of them were studying maps of the back country. "The Coalition police. They . . . they hit him. Hard."

Nayrah had felt something coil in her stomach. She had gone to Syman's apartment that morning but he was nowhere to be found.

"Did they see you?" she had snapped. "Did they follow you?"

"I don't--" Manaar had stopped, still as a statue, realization flooding her frame. "I don't know."

 _Justice. Survival. Freedom. Truth._ Bootfalls broke the silence behind the door.

"It is my honor to fight at your side, Master Teal'c," she said.

"Indeed." He looked at her with his almost smile.

A strange _hum_ echoed in the room. Teal'c cocked an eyebrow, curious, and then his eyes grew wide. There was a flash of light and an electric crack, and when the police came through the door, Nayrah and the other students stood alone.


End file.
